Seraphine

one

She realized a month ago that she was being manipulated by him, when her Psychology of Relationships class began. She'd learned about abusive relationships, and, listening to the lecture, she came to the cold, harsh realization that she was in one. She almost had to step outside of the room, but she braved through her tears and finally saw all of the red flags Derek had been displaying for a year now. 

That same day, when she came back to the apartment she packed a few bags with her belongings, breaking down and crying over the framed pictures of them, and then again at the bruises she found on her ribs. 

When Derek found her, he had cried too, and begged for her forgiveness. He reminded her how much he loved her, how he was going through a rough time with classes, and that he needed her. Seraphine tried to argue with him, tell him that this wasn't right, and he had agreed. She stayed. 

A week later, he was back to his old ways. 

Seraphine didn't try to leave again, out of fear of what he would do to her. 

"I was in class," she starts, her voice choked as it makes its way around the lump in her throat. 

"What class, babe?" Derek asks, his hand moving to tug lightly, almost adoringly, on a strand of her knotted hair. Seraphine glances at him and almost smiles, before the feeling of being loved disappears as she remembers Dr. Reeve's lesson that day: manipulation is everywhere, it's an art, really. If one gets good enough at it, the other person doesn't even know they're being manipulated until after the fact. This is completely true in abusive relationships: one partner will be physically abusive, and then show affection right away afterwards, or even in between beatings, and use confusion to keep the other partner around. 

"Psychology of Relationships," comes her soft reply, and he nods, motioning for her to continue. More confusion clouds her mind, but she shakes her head and just tries to focus on recounting the end of the lesson. 

Seraphine wrings her hands together as she approaches her professor while the rest of the small class filters out the door. 

Dr. Reeves; undoubtedly one of the most handsome men on the planet, with dark, slicked back hair and sharp gray eyes, a smooth jawline, broad shoulders, and ink peeking out from under his collar. 

She tries not to think of how attractive he is as she runs over the question she wants to ask him in her mind. She doesn't want to mess up the wording or stumble over her words in front of him, doesn't want to make a fool out of herself in front of such a powerful, beautiful man. 

"Dr. Reeves?" She finally asks, blowing out a breath after she says his name. At the sound of her voice, her professor looks up from his papers, his eyes falling to hers. Recognition flashes across molten steel, and he leans back, dropping the pages he was holding and folding his hands in the lap. 

Seraphine's eyes are instantly drawn to his slender fingers, and she swallows thickly when she sees the dark ink dancing along them. 

"Yes, Miss Thatch?" His voice, deep and smooth, draws her gaze back up to his eyes, and she blushes ever so slightly, her mind reeling with the thought of being caught staring. She shakes her head to get rid of the dirty, inappropriate thoughts swirling around in her head, pulls her hands apart, and steps closer to his desk. 

"Um, I had a question about the homework assignment. Are we supposed--" 

"Seraphine," a voice calls from the doorway, and Seraphine freezes mid sentence, the color draining from her face. Her eyes dart to the side, where she can barely make out a figure leaning against the door frame, arms crossed tightly. She takes a deep breath and turns to see him fully, and what she sees makes her heart drop. 

Derek's smiling, but she knows this smile: it's fake. He's angry.

Seraphine glances down at the small watch on her wrist and gulps--she's two minutes late to their lunch date. 

"Fuck," the word slips from her lips before she can remember who she was talking to, and she whips around with wide eyes just in time to see her professor's eyebrows shoot up. "Shit, I'm sorry. I mean--I'm so sor--" 

"Seraphine, come on." Derek's voice has dropped an octave, and Seraphine flinches. He's really angry. 

"Thank you, Dr. Reeves, for your, um, lecture today, um, I'll email you!" She calls over her shoulder as she rushes to Derek, meeting calculating gray eyes. 

When she reaches her boyfriend, he uncrosses his arms and grabs her face tightly, bringing it up to his. Her protest is muffled as he slams his lips down on hers with a force so hard it bruises. She tries to pull away, her entire body heating up in embarrassment and shame of making out with him in front of her professor, but he digs his nails into her skin and she stops resisting. 

When he finally pulls away, she sucks in a deep breath, but it rushes back out when she sees that his eyes are haughtily trained on something behind her. 

"Catch you later, Dr. Peeves!" Derek grins over Seraphine's shoulder, and she winces as a small huff comes from her professor. Derek ignores it, slinging an arm over her shoulder and leading her out the door. She risks a glance back and sees Dr. Reeves standing up, leaning over his desk, watching her intently. He raises a sleek eyebrow and her eyes widen before she quickly straightens her body, looking ahead once more. 

She almost trips over her feet trying to keep up with Derek's fast pace. He leads her towards the Quad, where she knows a small picnic is waiting for them. That was their Monday ritual--picnic in the Quad, where she would listen to him talk about his day and how he was dreading going to work that evening. 

Seraphine finishes recounting the tale, and she inwardly chastises herself for thinking he would let something like that go. 

"What's the lesson here, Serpahine?" He asks gently, his fingers dancing along her skin. Something has changed, though: his nails are touching her more than his fingertips. She shivers under his touch, and wishes with all of her being that she was strong enough to move away. 

"...don't be late to lunch?" She tries, looking up at him. One of his nails digs into her skin, making her hiss as it drags through her skin from her chin down her neck, across her collarbone, to her shoulder. 

"No, Seraphine. Don't be a fucking whore."